


Thunderstorm Kisses

by D_f_m22



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 09:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11597811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_f_m22/pseuds/D_f_m22
Summary: Time Lords don't react well to Earth Thunderstorms. Usually, the Doctor and Missy manage to avoid such an inconvenience but this time there's no such luck. Missy's suggestion for dealing with it doesn't sound all that bad to the Doctor. Unfortunately, their evening passes as calmly as the storm.





	Thunderstorm Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thunderstorm kept me awake last week and this is where my mind went. Hope you enjoy reading and appreciate any feedback. I'm terrible at smut, so this is about as close as I'll ever get.

Thunderstorms are curious things. Most planets in the universe experience them in some variant and the impact differs throughout the cosmos. Earth’s thunderstorms are neither spectacular or bland. Much like the little blue and green planet itself, they are just so. 

 

On an average midsummer Tuesday in 2017, one of those just-so Earth thunderstorms was approaching a small island country in the planet’s northern hemisphere. The Doctor, sat at his desk at St. Luke’s University in Bristol, could sense the approaching storm as he listened to Bill’s four-thousand-word attempt at summarising quantum physics. Her opening quote had caught his attention instantly and he’d recognised it as the opening line of Missy’s doctorate thesis from back on Gallifrey. He’d made a mental note to check how much time Bill was spending in the Vault and make sure the young human didn’t fall for his friend’s convincing charm. As soon as the essay returned to referencing the usual 20th and 21st century physicists, the Doctor submitted to the dull ache forming behind his eyes as he contemplated the arrival of the just-so, Earth thunderstorm he could sense. 

 

He could sense it not because he had visited this date before. He had, with Sarah-Jane, but they’d been too preoccupied by an impending Sontarian invasion to ponder weather patterns. It wasn’t because he’d watched the weather, either. He hadn’t watched a weather report during his prolonged stay on Earth since Michael Fish’s infamous 1987 forecast. There was something cruel (however humourous it may seem) about such irony that he didn’t like. Missy, on the other hand, loved it. It was the reason he’d removed her TV set and radio in the lead up to and on the day of Earth’s more tragic events. Catching her smile as she’d listened to news of Chamberlain’s appeasement attempts and the sparkle in her eyes as she’d watched the doomed crew boarding the Challenger with bright smiles, he knew her sick amusement couldn’t be allowed to continue. 

 

No weather reports for him and no news broadcasts for her. That was one of the more recent rules they’d agreed. 

 

The reason the Doctor could sense the impending thunderstorm was not because of time travel or attention to forecasts. It was because of who he was. He was a Gallifreyan living on Earth, he was not wired into the planet’s weather system in the way that he was wired into Gallifrey’s. As such, he had the ability to sense any disturbance to the status quo much more than the native species might. Sure, a human could sense the stuffy air and humidity that arrived in the hours before a storm and earth animals could certainly feel the rumbling growls of thunder before it arrived; but for the most part, it didn’t cause anxiety or apprehension.

 

It was natural to them. 

 

For the Doctor, it was alien. 

 

The ley lines were doing odd things, the air was even more stifling than normal and the atmosphere proved strange. It was like Mother Nature was calling him out as she prepared  
her cleanse of the planet. “You’re out of place,” she seemed to state. “You don’t belong here.” It made him restless, caused his skin to itch and started a dull ache behind his eyes that usually spread throughout his limbs. Of course, he’d been on Earth during plenty of thunderstorms and it never usually affected him this badly. This was the most consistent amount of time he’d spent on Earth in recent years, though, and he could only assume that was the reasons for such an adverse reaction. It was one of the painful reminders that he didn’t really belong here. 

 

He’d managed to keep Missy mainly sheltered from the side effects. During the first few decades, he’d kept her mainly sedated on some level anyway to counter the fits of rage and unpredictability she’d been prone to. He felt guilty about it, but it had been the safest thing to do for everyone. If he’d sensed a thunderstorm or any other disturbance that affected them, it had seemed easiest to up her dose slightly and let her sleep through it. As she stabilised and the regular sedation stopped, he’d managed to place a shield around the Vault. It stopped her from sensing the irregularities and made her immune to everything that came with it. Most of the time, he stayed and they saw out the storm together. Locked away in the Vault, playing cards and no thunderstorm headaches had been some of the best times the Time Lords had shared on Earth. 

 

In fact, the thought of spending tonight that way, cheered the Doctor up enough to ease the sour taste in his mouth temporarily. He was mentally preparing what board games to take down when Nardole waddled into the room, heaving over-filled shopping bags in both hands. The Cyborg walked carefully behind Bill as she carried on reciting her latest essay to the Doctor, oblivious to the fact that his attention had been distracted away from quantum physics since the second line. 

 

“Where have you been?” The Doctor demanded gruffly, running his gaze over Nardole. He’d sent him down to the Vault- to activate the shield- earlier that afternoon. Assessing the bags and Nardole’s flushed expression, it seemed the Cyborg had been off doing other things. 

 

“Sainsburys,” Nardole replied brightly, pushing his glasses up his nose and plonking down into the arm chair unceremoniously. “They had a special on a lovely lamb joint. I’ll cook us a roast this weekend.”

 

Bill coughed, watching the pair. “I guess we’re done listening to my essay then?” She sighed, placing the neatly typed, double-spaced document on the desk. “I spent all night referencing this.”

 

“Sorry,” the Doctor said, turning back to Bill and glancing down at the essay. “It’s fine… It’s good. I have a small concern about one of those references, but other than that, it’s just fine.” 

 

“And do I get a grade?” Bill questioned, expression frozen somewhere between amusement and resigned acceptance. “You know the university has stricter marking regulations that ‘it’s just fine.’”

 

The Doctor waved his hand dismissively. “It also has tuition fees,” he reminded in jest. “You don’t mind not paying them.” 

 

Bill shrugged in defeat and the Doctor beamed. “Next week, we’ll work on your debating skills. A shrug won’t cut it.” 

 

“Okay,” she nodded. “I think I can cope with that. So, this roast dinner…Moira isn’t a great cook, can I join the party or is it a Cyborg and Time Lord only thing?”

 

Nardole nodded eagerly. “Come along! I’m trying out a new recipe, everyone’s invited. Though, when I say everyone, I don’t mean she who resides downstairs. She’s not invited. Doctor, why are you glaring at me like that?” He asked, catching a glimpse of the Time Lords scowl. Bill, too, noticed the glare and set her gaze on the darkened sky that was beginning to loom. She didn’t know what Nardole had done to annoy the Doctor but she imagined it had something to do with ‘she who resides downstairs.’

 

It usually did. 

 

“The weather,” the Doctor seethed as though it explained everything. Nardole looked out of the widow and back to the Time Lord.

 

“It’s clouding up a bit, think there will be a storm tonight. Ah…” he paused in realisation. “Have you got one of those headaches again?” He asked sympathetically. 

 

“Headaches? Bill chirped in, “Like alien headaches?” She’d never heard the Doctor complain once about any kind of ailment in all the time she’d known him. The Doctor ignored Bill’s question and continued to glare at Nardole. 

 

“The shield,” he said slowly. The closer the storm got, the more irritated he was growing. If Nardole hadn’t activated the shield around the Vault, Missy would be feeling just as agitated as he was right now. “The shield around the Vault. You didn’t activate it, did you? You had time to go to bloody Sainsburys yet you couldn’t complete the one task I’d asked!”

 

“You most certainly did not ask me to activate the shield. I said I was going shopping and you threw a book at me and asked me to pick up some strawberry milkshake” Nardole cried, cheeks puffing in and out as he became affronted at the accusation. 

 

Bill’s mouth hung open as she looked between Cyborg and Time Lord. 

 

“You threw a book at him?” 

 

“He’s being dramatic. It was only a paperback.” 

 

Silence hung in the air and the first drops of rain hit the outdated window panes. Bill stood and zipped up her hoodie. 

 

“It’s really going to come down,” she commented as she slung her bag over her shoulder and nodded outside. “And this is getting weird. I’m going to let you two sort out your sci-fi domestic and I’ll see you on Sunday. I’ll bring a bottle of something!” 

 

With that, the young human walked out of the Doctor’s office with a bounce in her step set on reaching home before the storm began. 

 

“I can go and activate the shield now,” Nardole ventured. 

 

The Doctor scoffed but softened quickly. It wasn’t Nardole’s fault and on reflection, the banging in his head had probably made him forget to mention the shield. “I wouldn’t go anywhere near that Vault if I were you. Not until this storm has been and gone. You’ve heard that old saying about a lion with a tooth ache?” Nardole nodded, confused. “Imagine a psychotic Time Lady with something worse.”

 

Nardole gulped. “Will she be worse than the time I gave her food poisoning with my under-cooked salmon?” 

 

The Doctor nodded as he thought back to the image of Missy doubled over the toilet for twenty-hours straight. “Much. Look, leave it to me. Just make sure I get an extra spud on Sunday. And make sure you don’t poison any of us!” 

 

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Missy was draped across her chaise lounge, right arm over her eyes as she swallowed and tried to regulate whatever this was she was feeling. Her left hand fanned a wad of old private eye magazines over her to generate some air. It was dramatic, but she could be dramatic. Especially when she felt so damn awful. Normally, the Vault was freezing but today she felt like a menopausal polar bear caught in the Sahara Desert.

 

Shaky fingers struggled to undo the buttons of her white chiffon shirt and beads of sweat dripped down her chest between her breasts. She let out a triumphant hum as the last button came loose, revealing the cream lace of her bra. Closing her eyes, she focused on what she could as wave after wave of nausea passed through her. Briefly, she wondered if eggman had given her food poisoning again. She really would kill him this time, if that were the case. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t dodgy fish that had caused this. 

 

The sour taste in her mouth told her the atmosphere was off. It was one of the first things they were taught at the Academy- how to identify disturbances in the regular patterns of an atmosphere. She might be sealed off from the rest of Earth in her little prison, but she wasn’t sealed off from her innate sense of knowing and feeling. Earth was out of balance. She wasn’t Earth born, so she was out of balance too. Ignoring the low buzz pumping under her skin, she stood up and walked towards the kitchen area. As soon as her feet connected with the ground she felt the vibrations and knew what was causing the imbalances. 

 

“Thunderstorms,” she murmured to herself a small grin playing on her face as she began to run the cold water over an old rag. Dabbing it along her neck, she held onto edge of the sink for purchase and hummed her own rendition of ‘it’s raining men.’ She liked thunderstorms, always had since childhood when her and the Doctor would scramble for shelter in an abandoned outpost at the foot of the mountains. The flashes of lightning and grumbles of thunder made her feel alive and electric. Earth’s thunderstorms had nothing on Gallifrey’s, that could last days and even weeks. They never left her feeling quite so iffy either. Still, beggar’s can’t be choosers, she was bored of her monotonous Vault life. A storm livened things up a little bit. Plus, the Doctor would be feeling just as rotten and down to see her in no time. 

 

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The Doctor had found some solace in the Tardis after Nardole had made his leave. The familiar hum of the blue box eased his headache and sense of differentness enough to allow him time to have a bath and get changed. With a clearer head, he sat in the library contemplating what to do about Missy. It was too late to activate any kind of shield and from the tentative peeks he’d taken into her mind, he could sense she was feeling the storm. He could feel her discomfort but also and underlying sense of excitement that bothered him. 

 

The simple thing to do would be to lock himself in the zero room and wait for the storm to pass. While the storm would be uncomfortable for Missy, it wouldn’t cause any serious damage. If roles were reversed, he was under no illusions that she would come to his aid when she had the chance to sit it out in comfort. Closing his eyes, he realised that wasn’t entirely true as he thought of her coming to his rescue- no questions asked- on several occasions. He could bring her up to the Tardis and take them both off somewhere until it passed. He quickly pushed the thought from his mind- there were too many risk factors in that scenario. Pushing himself off the seat, he resigned himself to his decision and made his way down to the Vault. 

 

The Vault was seemingly empty as the Doctor entered. There were tell-tale signs that Missy was nearby. Her shoes were scattered on the floor by the chaise lounge while a pile of magazines was discarded close by. Taking two more steps in, the Doctor caught sight of Missy’s red-painted toes tapping behind the kitchen unit. Shuffling further towards the kitchen, he had to stop himself from laughing at the scene he found. 

 

The sight of Missy, sat on the floor with her frizzy-haired head resting atop her knees as she hummed ‘singing in the rain,’ was enough to ease his headache slightly. Her shirt was completely undone and hanging off her shoulders as she tapped her feet in time with her humming. The Doctor coughed, not wanting to startle her with his sudden arrival. 

 

“Doctor,” she beamed her head shooting up as her wide eyes locked onto him. 

 

“Missy,” he nodded. “How are you feeling?”

 

Her eyes widened and she stood up, swaying slightly as she walked towards him. That answered the Doctor’s question as he launched forwards and caught her by her forearm. At least he’d been able to get some respite from the impending storm, she had been in the eye of it all evening. 

 

“Thunderstorms,” Missy said under her breath. Pressing her hand against his chest and splaying her fingers wide, purring in satisfaction as she felt the Doctor’s hearts beat. The steady beating of the familiar hearts grounded her, taking the edge off the burning under her skin and thumping behind her eyes. 

 

The Doctor noticed the way that her touch soothed his own edginess as he guided her back to the chaise lounge. “If you’re thinking of becoming a weather forecaster, you’re a bit behind. It’s been raining all evening.” 

 

The thunder was still an hour out. 

 

Missy laughed, more than the quip warranted, and leaned forward for his touch. The Doctor tried to pull her shirt back up her shoulders and do it up. It was no use as Missy continued batting him away and eventually grabbed hold of his wrists, pinning them to the sofa as she swung one of her legs over his hips and settled into his lap. She rested her head against his chest and hummed contentedly letting her eyes drift shut. The Doctor ran one hand down her back and used the other one to massage his temples to soften the ache residing there. There was something about being with one of his own kind that had a medicinal effect. 

 

Looking down at Missy, he smirked at the dopey smile that was playing on her lips. Placing the back of his hand to her forehead, he tutted at her rising temperature. He briefly wondered if he appeared in that kind of state to Nardole and Bill when he was feeling out of place. 

 

“Thunderstorms. I like thunderstorms,” Missy sang peering up at the Doctor and squinting one eye open. 

 

“It’s not a Gallifreyan thunderstorm,” the Doctor groaned squeezing his eyes shut at a strike of pain. The first rumbling of thunder echoed around the Vault as the wave of pain ebbed away. Missy puffed out her own cheeks and pressed her face into his shirt. The Doctor hissed as he felt a sharp pain on his chest, this pain wasn’t followed by thunder or lightning and was the result of the Time Lady settled in his lap sinking her teeth into his skin. 

 

“No,” he said sharply and hauled her away from his chest, holding her at arm’s length. “You’re in pain, I am too, but you don’t get to hurt me because of it.”

 

It was said gently, but it was still a warning. 

 

“I’ll kiss it better,” Missy cooed. Reaching her hand under his shirt, she brushed her thumb over the bruising bite mark and regarded it with great concentration. The Doctor groaned, knowing he should stop her but having neither the strength or desire to do so. Tugging the buttons undone, Missy placed a gentle kiss to the broken skin. “Doesn’t that help?” 

 

The Doctor nodded despite himself. It did help and it was obviously helping her too as she looked up at him with a bit more colour in her skin and a wanton look in her eyes. Trailing his hands down her sides, he shuddered at the sensation of her clammy skin under his fingers and brought them to a rest on the small of her back. Rubbing small circles into her protruding hip bones, the chiffon material of her opened blouse tickled the backs of his hands and grounded him as he tried to think of every reason they shouldn’t do this. 

 

She’s your prisoner, he reasoned.

 

It’s a breach of your duty of care. 

 

You’re both under the influence of the abnormal weather patterns. 

 

“Oh Gods, Missy,” he groaned as she dived in once more and began to trail kisses up his chest and along his collarbone. He needed to take control of this situation before they both regretted. He had more self-control than the megalomaniac psychopath currently purring in his lap, he had to be the one to stop it. “We’re not doing this. We can’t do this, it’s not part of our agreement.” 

 

“And why not?” She pouted, sitting back on her heels and planting her hands on his chest as she fixed her piercing stare on him. Wiggling her hips in his lap, she smirked triumphantly at the hardening pressure she felt against her inner thigh. “It certainly feels like you want me.”

 

At that, the Doctor hauled her up by the shoulders and plonked her down next to him. Moving a pillow into his lap, he scowled at her but still held his hand out sensing that the loss of contact had thrown them both off balance. Missy took the hand and they both winced as another clap of thunder hit. 

 

“Don’t use my biology against me, Missy. You’re not always going to be the one with breasts and if you carry on like this, I’m going to take great pleasure in tormenting any of your potential future bodies. Great Pleasure.” 

 

Missy’s smirk widened and the Doctor suddenly realised he was only encouraging her intentions. “I do hope that’s a promise, dear, but for now I’m quite enjoying the upgrade. You may have to wait a few regenerations for me to return to external genitalia.” 

 

Humming, she ran her hands down her front and shrugged her blouse off her shoulders. The Doctor leaned forward and pulled it back up. 

 

“Stop that.” 

 

Missy let out of low chuckle and threw her head back, exposing the vast expanse of her pale chest and long neck. The Doctor shuffled uncomfortably, fingers digging into his thighs and squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He should have left her to waver the storm alone, she always got ideas like this when they were together during a storm. She hadn’t loved Gallifreyan thunderstorms for the wonder of their natural beauty, she’d loved the way they spent the hours trying to pass it. No doubt, now they were both trapped in during an Earth thunderstorm, she’d make up some bullshit that they needed to seek shelter from the symptoms of differentness together. In her mind, it was the only way they could alleviate the edge and scratch the itch. He refused to consider that, this time at least, there might be method to her madness. 

 

“How dare you say I have no self-control,” Missy purred into his ear, licking the shell of it and tugging gently at his earlobe. “And there’s always method to my madness, you just don’t appreciate it.”

 

“I didn’t say that,” he growled trying to bat her away. While he was distracted, Missy pulled the pillow from his lap and started to palm at the front of his trousers. A proud noise left her lips as she felt his trousers tent. 

 

“You thought it, love. The irony of saying I have no self-control while all your funny little thoughts are leaking out of you like you’re a messy little human.”

 

The Doctor bucked his hips up towards her palm and let out a needy whine. “Missy,” he started in warning, coming back to himself suddenly as her hands set to work on his zip. “Stop this now. We’re not doing…”

 

His protests were cut short as he felt a sickness deep in the pit of his stomach. Judging by the ways that Missy’s movements stilled, she had felt it too. The Vault rumbled with the loudest clap of thunder yet and he could only imagine several bolts of lightning were lighting up the night sky at that moment. Missy jumped up, swaying several steps in the vague direction of the bathroom before sinking to her knees. 

 

“I’m…I feel a bit…” she started before heaving up on the floor. The Doctor had at least experienced some Earth storms over the last few decades, this was the first time she’d been exposed to one. 

 

Zipping up his trousers, the Doctor walked over to Missy and guided her in the direction of the bathroom. “Well,” he chuckled under his breath, “isn’t this a flashback to graduation night?”

 

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It was 3am and the storm showed no sign of abating. The Doctor and Missy were sat together on her bed, Missy with her head in the Doctor’s lap as he ran his fingers against her  
forehead. Neither were feeling up to very much, but thei connection was at least numbing the discomfort. 

 

“You look like a troll,” the Doctor commented as his fingers caught in one of Missy curls. Humidity was not her friend. “One of the 1980s troll dolls, not the actual troll population.” 

 

“Fuck me,” Missy murmured. “Please fuck me. We’ve done it before.” 

 

“I don’t fuck trolls,” he quipped and laughed as Missy scrunched her face up, tutting at him. “Or Time Lady’s that are feeling under the weather because of the weather.” He placed a consoling kiss on her forehead.

 

Missy’s eyes shot open at the kiss and she tilted her chin up, capturing his lips in a fierce kiss as he tried to pull away. Her whole body relaxed as she felt the tension and aches brought on by the storm vanish at their contact. The Doctor, too, felt a reprise in the relentless headache and found himself deepening the kiss. 

 

“It helps, see” Missy sang, chest heaving as she eventually pulled away from the kiss. “Why do you have to be such a masochist? We’re in pain and sex helps. Let’s fuck” she explained as though it were a mathematical formula. 

 

The Doctor sighed and ran his hand over his eyes, praying for an intervention that wouldn’t come. 

 

“Be a Doctor,” Missy continued. “Help me out.” 

 

“Don’t say it like that. It’s already weird enough contemplating this while you’re locked in here under my care,” the Doctor stated, starting to undo his shirt as he pushed her down onto the mattress. 

 

“I’d rather be under you, than under your care,” Missy trilled.

 

The Doctor silenced her swiftly with his mouth over hers as his hand trailed up her skirt and he resigned himself to everything that was about to unfold. 

 

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5am rolled around and they had managed to work their way through almost everything. 

 

Everything apart from actual sex. 

 

Missy let out a low moan of pleasure as the Doctor’s tongue sunk into her wet folds. She writhed on the bed as he lapped at her wetness and eventually came with silent cry as her fingers tugged at his curls. 

 

“Doctor,” she panted looking over at him as he emerged from between her legs. She watched as he licked his lips and re-joined her at the head of the bed. Curling into him, she smirked as she crashed her lips against his and tasted herself on him. 

 

“Doctor, the storm’s still going.”

 

“I know,” he murmured. “Give me a minute and I’ll eat you out again.”

 

Missy snorted. “You sound like you’re servicing a car. We haven’t fucked yet. Please, Doctor, let’s fuck.” 

 

“I can’t,” he sighed running a hand through her hair. “It’s not right while you’re here in this Vault. I’ve…Missy…there have been times, times that I’m sure you don’t remember, where I have had to hold you as you’ve sobbed and shaken. I’ve Bathed you and fed you and dressed you.” He’s mainly talking about the first few decades while she was under heavy sedation but also the few bad days she’d had more recently. “When I said you’re under my care, I meant it very literally. It feels like I’m taking advantage of my power if I fuck you in the place where I’ve had to care for you when you couldn’t take care of yourself.”

 

Silence hung in the air and Missy bit the inside of her cheek, hoping the sharp pain would distract her from the burning embarrassment she was feeling. Her cheeks flushed a furious red and for several minutes she forgot to breathe. The Doctor edged towards her in concern, quickly wishing he’d said nothing. 

 

“You think I’m sick,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “You used to want to have sex with me but now you think I’m too sick to even think about screwing. You’re happy to screw humans and that Gallifreyan mongrel but not me. Not your oldest friend and first lover.” Missy felt the Doctor’s fingertips graze her forearm and shot back as though she’d been shocked. Standing up, she backed away and staggered to the kitchen eventually gripping hold of the cabinet for balance as another clap of thunder struck. 

 

The Doctor grimaced on the bed and made to follow her. 

 

“Don’t you dare take another step near me,” Missy warned in a low hiss. “I’m a dangerous patient that needs your care,” she spat. Her head dropped into her hands and she cradled it, rocking herself to and fro gently for comfort. A string of Gallifreyan expletives left her mouth and she brought her gaze up to the Doctor. “I thought I was your friend but you don’t see me as anything other than diseased. You’re no different to any of them back home. More fool me for being so damn stupid.” 

 

“No, Missy. You’re not diseased, you’ve never been diseased. These last few years you’ve been so much more stable than I’ve seen you in so many of our lives. You’re making so much progress and I’m so proud of you but it would be wrong to sleep with you while we’ve got this arrangement.”

 

Missy scoffed and leaned one hand against the worktop as she waved her free hand in display of nonchalance. It was harder to pull off the indifferent attitude as sweat pasted her undone shirt to her sides and her skirt hitched up to reveal her right thigh. “You’re happy to comb your fingers through my hair as I suck you off though?” She questioned, each word bitter. “And you’re okay with going down on me. Tell me Doctor, what is it about the act of putting your penis in my vagina that disgusts you so much? You know you can’t catch my disease, don’t you? Madness isn’t an STD. Being broken isn’t an STD.” Her voice breaks here and she stares down at the floor.

 

The Doctor flinches at the bluntness of her words. “It’s not like that and you know it. Come and lay back down, the storm will be over soon. You really don’t look well,” he sat up, groaning at the aches in his own bones, and went to reach for her. Missy jumped back, finger pointed at him in warning as a cold shiver ran through her. 

 

“I said stay away. You know what? I’m done with this, I think you need reminding of who I really am,” she strode towards him and halted, glistening eyes regarding his every move. The Doctor opened his mouth to ask what she was doing, but before he could get the first word out, her felt darkness claim him.

 

“Night-night,” Missy cooed, removing her finger from his temple and marching towards the Vault door as she disappeared into the stormy dawn. 

 

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The University bell tower chimed, welcoming in 8am as students (or at least the few that were awake) and lecturers crossed campus. Bill looked up at the clock and hastened her pace, she wanted to see the Doctor before her shift started at 9am. Sidestepping a puddle from the previous night’s storm, Bill’s eyes lingered for a moment on the familiar figure sat on the steps of the monument. The individual was in a state of semi-undress, wearing only a chiffon blouse that hung halfway down her thighs and just managed to cover the lace underwear visible underneath. Wild hair framed her face as she looked through several wallets and handbags, batting furiously at the unruly locks every so often. 

 

It couldn’t be, Bill thought. It must just be a batty mature student that partied a bit too hard last night. Still, she couldn’t help but linger and watch the woman curiously. Almost as though she sensed a set of eyes on her, the woman looked up. A wide smirk appeared on her face instantaneously and Bill’s mouth dropped open. It was. 

 

“Missy!” She exclaimed, forcing her eyes to remain focused on the Time Lady’s face and nothing else as she sauntered over to her. “What…what are you…no…you…this…”  
Missy grinned, circling Bill and not caring about the looks she was getting from passers-by. Her bare feet sank into the concrete that was still damp from the storm. “You are his human. I’m getting better at that,” she sang in self-congratulation. “Never used to be able to tell the newbies apart. But here I am! You’re not the baldie, so you’re the other one. The new human pet.”

 

“Um, I’m not his anything,” Bill remarked unimpressed with the Time Lady still circling her. “I’m Bill. I had afternoon tea with you and the Doctor two weeks ago. You corrected every sentence in my essay on free will. We shared a slice of Battenberg for afters,” she listed hoping to gain some recognition from Missy. 

 

Missy looked at her blankly, pausing and tilting her head. “Oh! The cake with the pink and yellow squares and marzipan? That was scrummy.” Bill sighed, not what she was hoping for but it was recognition all the same. She started to think of what to ask next, not entirely sure where to begin when Missy spoke up again. 

 

“Do Starbucks sell Battenberg?” 

 

“I don’t think so…Why?”

 

“I want a Starbucks and thanks to you I want some Battenberg. You’re no use to me now, buzz off” Missy waved her hand dismissively and returned to her perch on the monument steps. 

 

“O..Okay,” Bill half laughed, watching the Time Lady for a few seconds before deciding to leave her to it. Whatever it was, she thought watching as Missy emptied the contents of each handbag and wallet, starting to organise the contents methodically. She didn’t seem to care that most of it was getting soaked in puddles. Bill shook her head and fastened her hoodie, she considered approaching Missy and taking her back to the Doctor but quickly decided against it. She’d been warned about the Time Lady and she didn’t take those threats lightly. 

 

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“Good morning, Missy” Nardole chirped as he shuffled into the Vault with a tray of breakfast and tea. It was the same way he started every morning, he wondered what the response would be today- an insult or silence. When no response came, he tutted and started to organise the cereal and toast on the coffee table. “How are we feeling today? Slightly less murderous?” He asked hopefully, preparing to duck out the way of any projectiles that might fly his way at the very insinuation. 

 

Still, he was met with silence. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. “It was an awful storm last night and I know you and the Doctor feel out of sorts during Earth storms and I’m sorry I forgot to put the shield up but it was a genuine mistake. I had to go to Sainsburys, you see, before they ran out of the lamb joint. I’m doing a roast on Sunday- you can’t come to that I’m afraid, but if you behave I’ll bring you down a plate with an extra dollop of mint sauce.” Silence, again. “You must be tired. The Doctor gets so grumpy during and after a storm. It’s okay, though, according to the lovely Scottish weather lady on BBC Breakfast, there won’t be any more thunderstorms this week.” 

 

Nardole heard a rustling of material as the figure on the bed pushed back the sheets. Smiling, he poured out a glass of orange juice and cup of tea. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it?” He hummed.

 

“Do you witter away like this every morning? It’s no wonder Missy throws things at you,” a gruff, sleep-laced voice sniped. 

 

Nardole turned around, mouth agape and just in time to see the Doctor pulling on his clothes haphazardly. “Doctor! What…Where’s Missy?”

 

“Not here,” the Doctor stated and downed the freshly poured orange juice. Marching to the door, he motioned for Nardole to follow him.

 

“What do you mean ‘not here’?” Nardole pressed, taking long strides to keep up with the Doctor. 

 

“Pretty self-evident,” the Doctor said as he ascended the stairs two at a time. “She knocked me out and the last thing she said to me was ‘it’s time to remind me who she really was.’” 

 

“Oh” 

 

“Oh indeed. Last night’s storm is the least of our worries if hurricane Missy’s been through town.”

 

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Bill heard the Doctor and Nardole approaching before she saw them. They were whispering to each other conspiratorially in much the same way they had when she’d followed him down to the Vault after one of her early tutorials. They must have discovered Missy was missing. 

 

“Doctor!” She exclaimed, jumping to her feet as they rounded the corner. 

 

“Ah, Bill, can this wait? We’ve got a bit of a situation on our hands” he mumbled the remnants of his headache still very much present as he unlocked the door and they all shuffled in.

 

“Heavy night, was it?” Bill chuckled watching him massage his forehead. “And no, it can’t wait. This situation of yours, does it begin with M and end with issy?”

 

“Not every situation has to do with Missy, Bill, as much as her ego may think it does.”

 

The Doctor wandered over to the window and looked out of the University. He’s attention caught on the partially dressed woman that appeared to be talking to a pigeon. At least she hadn’t got far, he thought, but at this rate she was going to get herself sectioned. Bill and Nardole joined the Doctor at the window just as Missy looked up.

 

The Time Lady grinned, gave them a royal wave and then blew the Doctor a kiss, followed by a more vulgar motion. 

 

“Dear me,” Nardole gasped while Bill just looked away. 

 

“This situation is about Missy, isn’t it?” Bill repeated. “I saw her earlier, talking about Battenberg and Starbucks. Is she drunk or something?” 

 

“Something,” the Doctor said dryly. Picking up his spare jacket and pointing at Nardole. “With me now. Bill, don’t you have work?” 

 

“Yeah, but this is far too amusing.”

 

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“Sit down now,” the Doctor ordered. He’d dragged Missy back to his office by her elbow, closely followed by Bill and Nardole who picked up falling pieces of Missy’s loot from however she’d spent the early hours of the morning. 

 

“I was just about to get my Starbucks!” Missy protested, hands resting on her hips as she glared at him. He’d managed to drape his coat over her shoulder and preserve at least some of her modesty. He suspected it didn’t bother her all that much but it certainly made Bill and Nardole feel more at ease. 

 

“No, you weren’t,” he growled and pushed her into the chair behind his desk. Retrieving a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and cuffing her wrist to the chair. 

 

“Got those a bit too quickly,” Bill commented from the corner of the room. “Got experience?” 

 

“He certainly has,” Nardole said soberly, the connotations of Bill’s words going over his head. 

 

The Doctor ignored them both and placed the back of his hand to Missy’s forehead. She was still clammy but any sympathy he might have had the night before had gone. 

 

“What did you do?” He asked. 

 

Missy shrugged. “I didn’t kill anyone one.”

 

“I asked you what you did, not what you didn’t do.”

 

“You wouldn’t fuck me. If you’d just been a man about the whole thing, nothing would have happened.”

 

“Missy,” the Doctor hissed turning beetroot red. 

 

“Christ,” Bill muttered. “Way too much information.” She looked over at Nardole who seemed oblivious to the whole thing. “I’m going to work. I’ve got a busy few days and need to erase the mental image of you two doing that from my mind,” she pulled a face like she’d tasted something sour. “It’s like space parents doing it.”

 

“Space parents?” Missy mouthed to the Doctor, nose scrunched up. The Doctor shrugged in equal confusion. 

 

“I’ll see you at lunch on Sunday. I’m looking forward to trying your lamb, Nardole.” 

 

Missy tilted her head as Bill mentioned lunch and started to hum ‘Mary had a little lamb.’ The Doctor caught sight of an odd look in her eyes and wondered briefly if she wanted to join them. In her own, strange way she seemed to be enjoying them all being together. She’d spoken for days about how much she’d enjoyed the afternoon tea they’d had with Bill- not that she’d ever admit it to anyone but him. 

 

“See you later,” Nardole waved cheerfully.

 

Bill shook her head and grabbed Nardole by the wrist. “You’re coming to help me cut some potatoes, you oblivious idiot.” 

 

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Once alone, Missy’s casual madness disappeared and an icy façade replaced it. 

 

“Undo this now,” she ordered firmly with a shake of her wrist. 

 

The Doctor obliged, undoing the cuff quickly. Missy stared up at him but lacked the energy to move and instead settled on peering through the stack of essays on the desk. Hesitantly, the Doctor turned and walked to the Tardis.

 

“I’ll be back in a sec, don’t move,” he said as he hovered by the door. 

 

Missy made a half-committed attempt at a nod before picking up a red pen and starting to mark the essays. He was happy to let her do that. She would have made a good teacher, firm but fair. He wished she’d followed that path. 

 

He was back in minutes, carrying an armful of spare clothes and plonking them down in Missy’s lap.

 

“You’re soaked through, get changed” he said gruffly. 

 

Missy huffed as though the task was of great annoyance to her but eventually stood up, tottering to the middle of the room on Bambi-like legs. She made a deliberate show of shucking off her wet clothes and he made note of the fresh cuts lining her pale legs. 

 

“Doctor!” She gasped, hand covering her chest. “Are you watching your patient get dressed? That’s a tad unethical, don’t you think?” She’d aimed for theatrical but he could sense the hurt, bitter edge to her voice. 

 

“You’re my friend, not my patient” he corrected. She scoffed. “I can turn around if you like?” 

 

“Whatever.” Missy grumbled, peeling the wet clothes away and pulling on a pair of leggings and an oversized jumper. Once changed, she kicked the discarded clothes around his office. 

 

“Where’s your skirt?” He asked eventually, ignoring her childish behaviour. 

 

“Must have lost it when I fucked Jack or Simon or Ranjesh or Caroline or Michelle or some other generic human.”

 

The Doctor paused and felt a shiver run down his spine. The thought of her fucking a human terrified him. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact she’d likely kill them after intercourse or the fact that she hadn’t been herself last night that bothered him. As the panic wore off, he realised she hadn’t fucked any human. Time Lords had a way of knowing if one of their partners had just been intimate with another being. It was that sameness in the alien-ness of it all again. 

 

“You didn’t fuck anyone. Where did your skirt go?” 

 

“I think I lost it in a tree.” 

 

The Doctor sighed. “And that’s how you got the cuts to your legs?” 

 

“Yes. I had to hide up there after campus security caught me pickpocketing the Dean.” 

 

“Was petty theft all you did last night?” 

 

“Yes,” Missy yawned. “I wanted a Starbucks and you never give me any pocket money” she pouted, mocking him ever so slightly. 

 

“You don’t need pocket money in the Vault,” he shot back. “Why the fascination with Starbucks?”

 

“It is what humans do,” she shrugged and sauntered over to the sofa, sitting down and nestling herself under the blankets. They smelled of the Doctor, that made her smile. 

 

“Missy, you don’t need to be human” he started but she’d already covered her head with a pillow, evidently settling down for a nap. 

 

“You’re going back in the Vault, you know that don’t you?” 

 

A muffled noise came from under the pillow. “After Starbucks.” 

 

The Doctor let out an exasperated sigh, and put his coat back on. He collected up the wallets Missy had stolen, intent on handing them into lost property on his way to Starbucks. As he stepped out of his office, leaving Missy somewhere between sleep and lucidity, he made sure he bio-locked the door.

 

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Midday came and went and Missy was nowhere nearer to returning to the Vault. Instead, the two Time Lords were curled up on the sofa watching drops of rain hit the window. Thankfully, it was just rain not a storm.

 

“You didn’t get me a coffee,” she commented looking into the plastic cup that was now empty. 

 

“Do you think I’m stupid? You on caffeine, no thank you.” 

 

Missy shrugged, threw the cup carelessly on the floor and pushed the Doctor back onto the sofa as she planted herself on top of him. The Doctor adjusted the blankets over her, pulling her in close and resting one hand on her lower back as the other ran through her hair. 

 

“Is cuddling a patient allowed?” Missy murmured, tucking her head under his chin and playing with a loose thread of the blanket. 

 

“You’re not my patient, Missy. Please, let’s talk about last night.”

 

“Talk? Sounds like something a shrink would say.”

 

“Missy.”

 

“There’s not much to say. You turned me down because my mind is sick. I’m an invalid in your eyes.”

 

“That’s not it at all,” he placed a kiss to the top of her head. “I don’t think you’re going to understand my reasoning for a long while. In time, though, I hope you will and I think you’ll be grateful that we didn’t let last night get out of hand.”

 

Missy sniffed in his arms and he thought she might be crying. He held her a bit tighter. 

 

“Whatever,” Missy whispered. She was definitely crying. A few more seconds passed in silence and the Doctor spoke again. 

 

“Want to know what I don’t understand?” He asked, watching Missy lift her head and nod. “You were never that fussed about physical sex. Not on Gallifrey and not in our adult lives. Telepathic sex, you loved that, but the primal, skin on skin sex you could take it or leave it. What changed?” 

Missy watched him and considered fibbing but decided against it quickly. “We weren’t up to telepathic sex last night. That storm was a nasty one and knocked us both sideways. We needed a connection to help stabilise us.” She explained it methodically, but the Doctor could tell there was more. 

 

“Just lying here, like this, gave us that stability though.”

 

Missy nodded and continued. “You liked physical sex. Not so much in this body, but in most of your bodies you’ve liked it more than me. I thought I could get you back.”

 

“Get me back?” He questioned and tried not to laugh at her. She didn’t open up very often. “I’m trapped guarding a Vault- that you’re supposed to be in, by the way- on Earth. I wouldn’t do that for anyone but you. You’ve got me hook, line and sinker.” 

 

Missy smirked at that and placed her head back down on his chest. “Good,” she said sleepily. “Doctor, let me into your mind.” She asked it so quietly that the Doctor wasn’t sure he’d heard it. It was then he felt a soft tug at his psyche and sensed Missy’s imprint in the distance, seeking entry. 

 

“No, we’re both tired I don’t want either of us to get hurt,” he said gently. 

 

“Just on the surface, while we sleep.” 

 

He gave in, let her sleepy presence enter and found his own imprint blanketing her psychic warmth. Missy hummed in his arms and he stroked her back.

 

“Just a quick nap and then it’s back to the Vault,” he yawned as his own eyes drifted shut. 

 

Rain lashed against the window, growing heavier each second but no thunder or lightning came. The Doctor smiled in his sleep as he felt Missy’s hearts beating against his own. It was half an hour into their joint nap when he heard her. 

 

“Doctor,” she asked and he opened his eyes to look down at her still sleeping form. “Can I please come to the roast dinner on Sunday?” 

 

The Doctor grinned at his sleeping friend. “Yes. You can have an extra dollop of mint sauce.” 

 

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It’s 3pm Sunday and the roast dinner has been moved downstairs to the Vault. Nardole, donning a pinny, cuts into his treasured lamb joint and starts to dish it out. 

 

“No, no” Missy sighed. “I want that piece.” Nardole grit his teeth and placed her preferred piece on her plate. 

 

“Well, tuck in everyone” Missy beams, motioning around the table. The Doctor noticed she’s done her hair specially but doesn’t say anything. 

 

“I’m supposed to say that!” Nardole squeaks. “I’ve been slaving away in the kitchen all morning.”

 

Missy scoffs, “well go on then.”

 

“Tuck in everyone!” He exclaims, though its rather lost its effect and the Doctor and Bill struggle to hide a laugh behind their napkins. 

 

“Can we play trivial pursuit after this?” Missy asks between mouthfuls. “Time Lords V the other two.” 

 

“We might need fairer teams than that, Missy” the Doctor laughs, washing down his meal with a swig of red wine. 

 

“Hey!” Bill snorts, “don’t underestimate us. We rise to your challenge.” 

 

Outside, afternoon turns to evening as three more bottles of wine are emptied and one Battenberg cake is devoured. It starts to rain again, but there’s no storm this time, only calm.


End file.
